The Greatest Gift of All
by ravenriddles
Summary: This is a two-part story about the entangling of fates between a mortal girl and a Galadhrim warrior.
1. Chapter 1

**Part I**

The beauty of Arda does not lie in its mountains, the snow topped backbone of the world, nor its forests, primordial and blossoming with life, nor even the glistening cities of its inhabitants. It is ours, the peoples of Middle Earth so placed here by the Gods, capacity for compassion that makes this world beautiful and timeless. We were not created for this land; this land was created for us. The mountains, the forests, the plains, the skies, all merely a mirror given to us by our Creator as a constant reminder that we must reflect the love and compassion we ourselves were shown in the time of our making.

We must never forget our purpose, our compassion. It is our light even in the darkest of places, when all other lights go out.

**T.A. 3003**

In a small clearing surrounded by lush green forest sat a small settlement of humble cottages. One cottage in particular was slightly smaller than the rest. What little wood that could be seen through the jade vines that blanketed its side was worn, but sturdy. Billowy moss speckled the roof and a small porch provided cool shade when the midday sun beat down overhead. It was home to two, an elderly woman and a small child.

For years, the settlement remained hidden in a stretch of the Brown Lands between the woodland realms of Mirkwood and Lorien. Few passed this way, for those who resided West of the Misty Mountains remain West, and those who reside East remain East. The Watchful Peace was infinite in the eyes of the mortals. And for this quaint, self-sustaining village, it was a careless peace.

It was a quiet life, this old woman and child had. The village lived primarily off the land and relied little on trade for they had all of the resources they could ever need. The old woman was gentle and generous, and never showed a soul any less kindness than she herself had been shown. As for the child, she was an orphan girl, old enough to understand but too young too provide a full helping hand around the cottage.

She had hair the color of tree bark after a rainstorm, eyes a mixture of blue and green, her skin pale as the moon. Her rose petal lips matched the tinge of pink constantly present on her cheeks. One might mistake her for an elven child, with her beauty and observant behavior.

She spoke naught, for the reason that she was now under the care of the white haired woman had rendered her of all will to speak. She was treated with kindness in the village, but she was also the victim of an unspoken judgment. Whispers of the cracked, damaged, lost cause of a child arose wherever she was present. Though it was not of ill will, as the villagers were good, honest people. They sorrowfully pitied her, in her silence and passivity. But soon, all silence would be disrupted.

It was during the late hours of a warm summer night that screams broke out throughout the settlement. The little girl awoke to her caretaker bursting into her room and grabbing her from her small bed. As she sleepily wobbled in the old woman's arms, she caught sight of a hoard of hunched over, black-skinned monsters running rampant through the village. They were one with the shadow of the night, mercilessly consuming all who were caught in their path. Chaos had broken loose. Death was upon them.

Her eyes widened with fright as the woman hurriedly carried her down the stairs from the loft. The screams grew louder and feral growls now erupted outside of their small, wooden home. The old woman cried out in fear and frantically tore away a rug lying near the far end of the cottage. She removed boards from the floor until it was large enough for the child to fit through. The woman lifted the terrified girl and stowed her away beneath the floor. "You will be safe here! Do not leave!" she said, her voice trembling with fright.

As she began replacing the floor boards the child shot out her hand and desperately grabbed at her caretakers sleeve, her eyes pleading her not to go. The old woman's grey eyes stared back, brimming with sadness, "Oh, my dear. Do not be frightened for me. This is not the end, this is only the beginning. Do not be afraid!"

Loud crashes against their door forced the old woman to replace the final board and face the evil that had now entered the once peaceful home. The small girl remained under the floor, petrified, as she listened to the beasts savagely murder her only friend in this world. The old woman was the only soul to care for her, to never question her silence. Tears filled her eyes and her lips quivered as the sounds of the monsters tearing apart her home mingled with horrified screams of the other villagers.

An orange glow seeped through the spaces between the boards, casting beams of warm light on the child's face. The familiar sent of smoke hung in the air and leaked into her small enclosure. She could hear the crackling of the fires as the screams were now replaced by deafening victory howls and roars from the beasts outside.

The child hugged her knees tight to her chest, unaware of what to do and too frightened to move. Suddenly, a piercing horn echoed in the air and a thunderous tirade of hooves beating against the ground transformed the victory cries into feral shrieks of fear and pain. What force of nature could cause the nightmarish monsters such distress and dread?

The sounds of battle ensued, but soon the child found it difficult to breath. Her eyes and lungs burned as the poisonous fumes now filled her small space in the floor. She coughed violently at the mercy of the black smoke. After a few agonizing minutes of pushing at the floorboards, the child was able to move then and crawl out of her hole.

She clutched at her chest as she painfully coughed, fighting for air. Through the thick grey haze she could make out the outline of her caretaker's body lying on the floor. The girl crawled to her side and shook the old woman, crying out in despair when her caretaker did not move. Her grey eyes remained open, the fear she experienced still present from her final moments. She was all alone.

A guttural growl broke the child's moment of grief. She had been heard. The girl let out panicked cries as she continually shook the dead woman. The beast stared down at her, eyes bloodthirsty and filled with malice. He pulled back his cracked lips into a dagger toothed scowl as he raised his rusted, iron blade. The little girl scrambled to the back of the cottage as the beast swung at her from behind. Then a chase ensued.

The girl grabbed a small kitchen knife and wildly swung at the creature, nicking its leg. It howled in anger and grabbed the child by her neck. Suddenly, the monster shrieked as an arrow burst through its chest. It threw her to the ground and she watched half consciously from the floor as it battled with a tall man with long brown hair in the smoke filled room. Every inch of her small frame hurt.

Why? Why did these things want to hurt them?

Fear grew in her heart as the creature knocked the figure back. With what little strength the girl had left, she approached the beast and embedded her kitchen knife into its calf. It howled in pain and backhanded her into the wall.

The distraction spared the man enough time to regain his position and behead the beast. He buried his nose and mouth in the crook of his arm as he searched the burning inferno for the little girl. Cries from his comrades signaled his need to leave, but something drove him to carry on. He could not abandon the child to this fiery end. Flames now enveloped the room and the support beams began to moan and crackle from the heat. Finally, he found the child sprawled about the floor, barely conscious and bleeding. Without a moment wasted he cradled her against his body and burst through the flames that had now barricaded the doorway.

The little girl rested in his strong arms and peered up at him through her in and outness. Her breathing was ragged from the smoke and her face bloodied and blackened from the ash. She did not know what he was. His face was also partially blackened from the soot, but through the dirt she could see that he was not like the men from her village. He was what she imagined a prince would look like, handsome and youthful. Pointed ears protruded from his auburn locks. He reminded her of the stories her caretaker would tell her about the fair, immortal beings that lived in the distant lands of Arda.

Her savior rushed her to others who also looked like him and spoke in words she could not understand. He gazed down at her, sapphire eyes filled with worry. He freed an arm and tore a strip of cloth from his shirt, which he then used to stop the bleeding from the slash that extended clear above her right eye to her cheekbone.

Harsh language was exchanged between her savior and the others as they seemingly argued about what to do with the child. She clutched his sleeve in her small hand; afraid he too would leave her. He peered down at her with troubled eyes and continued the heated conversation. His voice was strong but pleasing to her ears. And before the child knew it, she succumbed to her exhaustion.

The party remained for two days searching the wreckage for any survivors that would be able to care for the child. The scent of smoke clung to the air, masking the reek of death. Sadly, none withstood the onslaught of the beasts. The village and its people had been decimated, all but the small child. The elf warrior observed the girl vigilantly, regularly cleaning the gash she received after trying to aid him in his fight. It would surely scar, but she would not lose sight in her eye.

He felt lost in what to do with the mortal child. His fellow Galadhrim attempted to stop him when he heard her cry from within the burning cottage, but some unknown force urged him to launch himself into battle. It was as if the Valar pressed him onward. It was suicide, his comrades told him. She was mortal, her life would have been short. It was a lost cause.

But, here he sat, watching the very much alive child as she slept under his cloak near the fire. Something drew him to her. Something kept him by her side. Then, she opened her eyes.

It was in that moment that emotion, a foreign visitor, overcame him. He had seen much wickedness in his long existence in Arda, too much. He had taken the life of every evil being he had crossed paths with and never once did he feel anything but relief that the battle was over. But this, this was so very different. He had never felt a more rewarding experience in his 1,283 years than when that small child opened her eyes.

Be it short, she would live on.

"Hello," he said in Common, "you are safe now." He was well versed in common, unlike many of his comrades. "What is your name?" he asked. The little girl gazed back at him, her chocolate locks a mess from the fitful sleep she endured the past two days. When she didn't answer he pointed to his chest, "Ethiron." He soon realized that she would not answer his questions, at least not until she was ready to.

And it was on that day that their unlikely friendship began.

The squadron of Galadhrim and their diplomats had been on a return trip to Lorien after their journey to Mirkwood, an occurrence that happened very rarely as of late. The ever-growing shadow of the woodland realm kept them away. The elves had become nearly entirely isolated. It was by sheer chance that they had run into the raid on the small, defenseless village. Their fears were solidified after that night. Orc parties have multiplied; an unmistakable darkness has crept back into the world. The Watchful Peace was at an end. A power was growing; they could feel it in their bones.

The Galadhrim were now forced to split and take the child to the kingdom of Rohan, back to her people. She would not fit in entirely with the rugged, blonde horse lords, but it would be a home. Ethiron knew in his heart that it was for the best, for living with the elves would only bring her pain. She would grow old and those she loved would not. It is unlikely that she would find a husband, but with her own people she had a chance at normalcy.

On the third day, Ethiron and a few of his men departed with the child. In the days that passed she did not leave his side. At first, he was tense in her constant presence, having no more experience with children other than being one himself ages ago. He would have passed her off to a more suitable caretaker, but she seemingly abhorred being separated from him.

The journey was slower than what the elves were accustomed to, but the human child required more rest than they. Often, she was too terrified to sleep and the only remedy was Ethiron's presence. When she did sleep it was fitful and filled with night terrors. Many nights he found himself waking the child and cradling her in his arms, similar to the way he did when he found her in the cottage. The others would watch pitifully as he awkwardly rocked her back and forth, putting an end to her screaming and tears. But, as the days of travel carried on and with Ethiron's constant presence, her fears slowly began to fade away.

Their days of horseback riding were passed by simple conversation, namely Ethiron speaking to the child in Common and sometimes in his own tongue. He could tell that she was listening, so instead of asking questions he told her stories of great heroes and the magical places of the world. On one particular day he found himself explaining what elves were and telling her the story of Beren and Luthien. He told her of their famed love, despite the difference in their mortality and how they bravely faced the original evil itself. He hoped that stories like these would strengthen her heart; that they would teach her to be brave and strong, for he could not protect her forever.

On the seventh day, Ethiron gave her a name. "Hallathel," he said with a smile. She glanced up at him from his lap as he lightly spurred his horse onward. "It means _hiding flower. _It reminds me of when I found you. You were a little hiding flower. That will be your name, would you like that?" Her eyes lit up, a familiar signal that she liked something. "Ah. It is a good fit. Then you shall be called Hallathel, and I shall be your Ethiron," he paused, "I know that you do not care for speaking, but I would like to you know that should you need me, you must only call."

A smile spread across her face as she curled into his side. He reached down and gently traced the healing gash over her eye. She winced at his touch and he quickly withdrew his hand as if he had touched fire. "I am sorry," he apologized, "I did not mean to hurt you." He had forgotten how long it took for wounds to heal on mortals. It was something he was beginning to understand every day he spent with the child. Mortals are called mortals because of their accursed mortality.

"_The child must be treated with the same gentleness as a flower. They are delicate and easily wilt,"_a soldier riding next to him said in their native tongue, _"she has grown on you. I fear you will not want to leave her when we arrive in Rohan."_

"_I am only watching over her, all will be well soon enough,"_ Ethiron replied.

"_I think it will be more difficult for the both of you than you anticipate. Perhaps she is young enough that she will forget you with age, it would be for the best,__**"**_ the elder warrior finished with a frown. Ethiron glanced down at the child sitting before him, partially wrapped in his grey cloak. Had he truly become attached to this human child?

Soon the party reached day twelve of travel and tomorrow they would cross the expansive stretch of the Riddermark. The city of Edoras was near; where he hoped the King would allow Hallathel to grow up as a worker or maiden in his Hall. She would be cared for there; she would grow up with an education far better than that of a peasant girl on the plains. Ethiron religiously convinced himself of these truths. It was the right thing to do.

The party stopped for the night, as they would reach the safety of the city tomorrow. Ethiron sat relaxed by the fire as he watched the child attempt to lure a rabbit near. He smiled to himself as she crouched to the ground and held out a small hand filled with grass leaves, blue-green eyes filled with hope. She was a gentle soul, even in her young age he could see it.

"Halla," he called softly before wandering over and crouching by her side. "Here, use this," he said as he handed the bright-eyed girl a dandelion. The elf clasped her small hand in his and stretched it closer to the brown speckled bunny. It stood on its hind legs and sniffed in their direction, curious as to what it was now being offered. After a quiet moment, the rabbit hopped closer and graciously took the flower from their hands.

A beautiful smile spread across her face as she looked up to Ethiron, as if to say "thank you". Ethiron stood and offered his hand to her as they headed back towards the fire. Questionable and amused stares from his fellow Galadhrim met their return, but they were quickly brushed off.

He watched her closer than ever that night as she slept peacefully by the warm fire, its embers casting an orange glow on her soft features. Her youthful façade was deceiving. He had been observing her for weeks now and saw an old soul in her eyes. He saw the way she looked at the world. It wasn't the blind curiousness a careless child might have. Halla took the world in and contemplated it, understanding it. But it was during these times that she was fast asleep that the true essence of her youth shone through, her features remaining completely relaxed and oblivious to the evils of the world. The soldier wished more than anything for the girl to live on this way, happy and pure.

Sadness crept into his heart. She would hate him tomorrow. But he trusted that the old soul he saw in her eyes would understand. She had to.

The Galadhrim soldiers reached Edoras that day. The hooves of their horses beat against the sweeping, golden plains, echoing throughout the Harrowdale like an approaching storm head from the North. Cold mountain water misted the elves' faces as they galloped through the snaking river Snowbourne. Before them on a rugged, towering hilltop, outlined against the snow-covered White Mountains, rested the Golden Hall of Meduseld, the home of King Theoden and his court.

They passed through the thick wooden gates of the city, charged onward up the steep slopes and past the thatched homes that dotted the hillside. Shocked stares of the Rohirric peoples met the party on all sides. Elvish visitors were a rarity there, let alone foreign parties. Ethiron clutched Halla close as their horses charged ahead, grunting as they neared the summit.

Cool mountain air nipped at their faces as the turret guard stopped them. Their Captain dismounted and greeted the door warden whom gruffly introduced himself as Háma. He and his guard inspected the small party of Galadhrim suspiciously, and partially in reverence, before allowing them to enter. Ethiron soundlessly descended his mount and gently pulled Halla from the saddle. She watched him questioningly, confused by her surroundings.

He quickly averted his gaze from her perplexed eyes, not having the heart to tell her of their plan just yet. As his fellow soldiers advanced into the Golden Hall he checked behind him to find Halla struggling to keep up with their long strides. Ethiron swept the dark-haired child into his arms and continued inside.

The marveling stares persisted now from the members of the King's court. Advisors cloaked in black kept a comfortable distance and whispered quietly to themselves, unaware that even in their silent tones the immortals standing in their halls could easily hear their whispers of incredulity. Soon, they were greeted by a yellow-haired man dressed in robes of red and gold whom was none other than Theoden King. His eyes were gentle, his chin strong and proud. Age had only kissed his features lightly. Theoden was kind and welcoming, despite his shock at their presence in his Hall. Ethiron's Captain treated the King with high regard as they exchanged formalities and spoke of their purpose in his Hall.

A girl still in her adolescence, but with an eerie semblance of a young lady appeared at the King's side. Her face was white as snow and framed by long, golden locks. Ethiron noticed the unmistakable grief behind the youth's grey eyes. Loss had been no stranger to her as well.

The elf's reverie was broken as he was called forward. He glided towards his Captain and the Great King Theoden, greeting him with a bowed head. "So this is the child you speak of?" he questioned with a smile, "I hear you do not care for speaking. That will change in due time, for you will find comfort here in these halls, my dear. We shall give you a name, as well."

"Hallathel," Ethiron interjected bluntly, "Hallathel is her name, My Lord." His Captain shot him a discreet warning glance. He had better manners than to speak so boldly. The King scratched the stubble on his chin and gazed down at the girl warmly before calling behind him, "Eowyn, dear. Come forward."

The pale faced girl gracefully drifted toward the King's side, "Yes, Uncle."

"May I introduce you to my niece, Eowyn," he turned to his niece, "Eowyn, this is Hallathel, I believe that you two will become good friends." The golden-haired girl's grey eyes lit up with excitement, "You mean she is to live here? She is to be my friend?"

Ethiron realized that as much of a gift as this new home was to Halla, it was a gift from the King to his dear niece. The good King nodded with a wide grin, "Now, help to prepare a room for her. Go, go!" As the girl darted away and out of sight he pulled aside Ethiron, out of Halla's earshot. His happy demeanor soon shifted to a grave solemnness, "Eowyn and her elder brother Eomer lost their parents nye over a year ago, so I have come to raise them myself in my sister's place. Eomer has been strong, but the grief has laid heavily on Eowyn. It will be a good fit, they will be able to relate to one another, provide comfort that I cannot."

This made Ethiron's heart fill with relief, but it was soon replaced by worry. "What will become of her though? What should she do as she ages? Will there be a place for her?" The King was taken aback by the elf's sudden concern, "Do not fret, she will be groomed to become a shieldmaiden, a noblewoman. She may marry well too, perhaps…. She will not be thrown into the street. I am neither cold nor cruel. She will be looked after here." Ethiron saw truth behind King Théoden's eyes and relaxed. He bowed his head graciously, "Your generosity stands true to your reputation, My Lord. I thank you, deeply."

"Is there anything that we may give or do in payment for your generous offer, My Lord?" Ethiron's Captain called. "I ask nothing, for this visit of yours came in a time of great need. I believe this is a blessing to us; the Gods have answered my prayers with little Halla. It is I who should thank you. You have done a good thing here, rescuing a child and travelling out of your way to bring her to safety. It is admirable, and that in itself is cause for no such payment you offer to me. Now, do you plan to stay before your return?"

"Actually, we planned to disembark immediately. We parted ways with the majority of our kin and must return as quickly as possible," his Captain continued, his eyes now fixed on Ethiron, "_it is best to make the goodbyes quick. She will be safe here."_

Ethiron nodded and watched as his kin gradually took their leave, allowing them more privacy. He glided over to Halla who eyed him suspiciously. For a moment he simply stared down at the child, trying to find words to say. He slowly unclasped his grey cloak, the one she had often slept in, and kneeled before her. She could see the sadness behind his azure eyes. He carefully wrapped her in the oversized garment, attaching the clasp around her neck before grasping her delicate arms, "Halla, you must stay here now. You will have a home, a family, everything you could ever need. They will look after you."

The child furrowed her brow, her blue-green orbs filled with confusion. She slowly shook her head and grasped his grey sleeve. The child crashed into the elf and constricted her arms around his neck, grabbing fistfuls of his chestnut hair in her hands. He sat frozen, unsure of what to do. The girl began to quake as silent sobs racked her small frame.

Ethiron wrapped his arms around her and stood with her in his arms. A sudden wave of sickness hit him as a guard approached to take Halla from him. He did not want to leave her here. What if didn't find happiness in Rohan? What if they are cruel to her? It would be his fault. Rash ideas flashed through his head like a lightning storm. He could take her back with him, he could raise her himself!

Suddenly, the greying guard began to separate Halla from him. He watched in pain as he saw her face, tear-stricken and terrified. She struggled relentlessly in the guard's thick arms, reaching out for Ethiron. Panicked cries escaped her rose petal lips. The guard secured her tightly against his chest as he cast his glance away pitifully.

"Halla, don't struggle!" the elf called sorrowfully, "Do not fight him! Do not be afraid-" His words helped little as her struggling only worsened. She outstretched her arms, desperately grasping for her savior, her eyes pleading for him to take her.

"Ethiron," he heard his Captain call from behind, "it is best to leave now. You have your duties, you could not care for her." The soldier slowly turned and began walking. His face now a mask to hide the throbbing pain in his chest. As he neared the bright light of the world outside a small voice shattered his despondent trance.

"ETHIRON!"

It was in this moment that his immortal heart shattered. He loathed himself entirely. He was a liar, a fraud. His own words echoed through in his head. _Should you need me you must only call…_

He looked over his shoulder and regarded the sobbing child once more with grief-stricken eyes and muttered, "I am sorry," before jogging out the door. "The world is a cold and cruel place, Halla, this will only make you stronger," he hissed before angrily sweeping onto his horse and speeding away until the city of Edoras was only a cold speck in the distance and a shadow of the past.

**T.A. 3019**

Long years passed since that dreadful day. All heard the child's screams as the small party of Galadhrim fled the city on the hill. She called his name for three days and three nights. She did not eat, she did not sleep. After a time she exhausted herself, but her nights were filled with waking terrors. The young Eowyn stayed with Halla for two weeks, until finally the girl calmed and began to function normally. Theoden remained compassionate and understanding, as he had seen much the same with his own niece.

By some magic, Eowyn was able to get the child to speak, albeit little at first. Eomer, too, had begun to warm up to the foreign girl, as well as Theodred, the King's son. As the years passed, the girls grew closer. Their relationship blossomed from that of two young friends to a sisterly bond. They grew to be similar, strong willed and confident. Hallathel often spoke less than her dearest friend, but she was sharp and intelligent in ways Eowyn was not.

The royal often daydreamt of attaining valor and glory, and sometimes great, heroic men. Halla on the other hand, dreamt of far away places. She dreamt of the day the hole in her heart would finally heal, and believed she would find the cure somewhere in a distant land. She had never forgotten Ethiron. His face was engrained in her memory; his keen eyes, bright and clear as the sky, his long auburn hair, his kind gaze, how he smelt of pine and mountain air. She thought of him often, the one she owed her life too. Few were the days that she did not don his grey cloak, her dearest possession, and her only real possession.

She filled the time not spent carrying out duties of the court or becoming a shieldmaiden of Rohan sketching anything her mind conjured. By now, her room was filled with books of portraits. She had never known much of the world other than what she had seen and been told. So instead, she created beautiful worlds she could only imagine, the places where her heart might finally find peace.

Hallathel matured into a striking young woman, beauty rivaling that of Eowyn's. Her once button nose became straight and delicate, her face heart-shaped, her lips full, her blue-green eyes big and sincere. Her chocolate locks now cascaded past her shoulders, framing her milky skin and contrasting brilliantly from the blonde Rohirrim. And finally the reminder of her past, the long, fine white line tracing over her right eye. It held a strange beauty of its own as it shone silver in the moonlight.

As for Eowyn, the cracks in her heart faded with time. However, as the young princess grew into a beautiful noblewoman, their dearest King began to change, not at all a coincidence as it was at the same time a new advisor appeared at his side, Grima Wormtongue. The Hall darkened, the air grew frigid and stale, and the people became sullen and grim as the King held less and less interest in the welfare of his country. He was unrecognizable, despondent, grey and deathly.

No longer did the Golden Hall feel like home. It felt like a prison, and Grima now ruled. It was on the day that Eomer, now third Marshal of the Riddermark, leader of the éored, recovered a mortally wounded Theodred. Halla had briefly left Eowyn and Theodred's side to sort out her own grief when she overheard Eomer's outrage with the greasy, snake-like Grima. The orc party that had attacked Theodred's men in the Mark bore the white hand of Saruman, a supposed ally of Rohan.

It was Halla who tearfully rushed to Eowyn and told her of her brother's banishment. She refused to allow Grima to poison Eowyn against her own kin with lies of betrayal and abandonment.

On that same day, four riders approached the lifeless city of Edoras, a man, an elf, a dwarf and an elderly man clad in grey. They took the Hall like a force of nature. Halla watched in shock as the elderly man revealed himself to be the wizard, Gandalf the White. Fighting ensued as Grima's men attempted to control the travelers. Then, Eowyn rushed to her uncle as the wizard purged Theoden King of the darkness controlling him. It was no surprise to her that it had been Grima all along, acting as a pawn of their newfound enemy, Sarumon. The deathly grey that cloaked the Great King Théoden receded until he was once again, the strong, golden man he was before Grima's treachery.

Joy and sorrow mingled, as all were happy to see their King's return, but woeful as he learned of his only son's death. A day of mourning was spent for Theodred as he received a proper burial. Halla kept her distance from Theoden for the time as he was overcome with grief and shame, as he felt responsible for his beloved son's death.

Peace did not follow that solemn day as a horse ridden by two young, exhausted children arrived at Edoras bearing the news that the Westfold had fallen to hordes of Wildmen.

It was the next day when the city of Edoras was evacuated to began its journey to the mountain fortress of Helm's Deep, a better defendable location where they hoped to find refuge. Halla and Eowyn were charged with looking after the women and children as the caravan hiked to the Hornburg. Though, the voyage did not conclude without peril. A party of Warg scouts ambushed them as they neared the fortress. A handful of the lives of men were lost, but due to Eowyn's leadership, she was able to successfully lead the women and children ahead to safety.

Before them now was the ancient stone fortress. The Hornburg was carved into the black stone of Helm's Deep, a wide crook in the White Mountains. Halla marveled at its thick, looming, stone walls, which cast black shadows across the already blackened valley. Every inch of the fortress was made of solid, mountain rock. There were rumors of the wall's thickness being wide enough to fit four men shoulder to shoulder within it. It was said to be impenetrable, invulnerable, having effectively defended the Rohirrim for ages. Its walls had never fallen nor been breached; it had never betrayed its people.

A strange feeling overcame Halla as she passed through the gate of Helm's Deep, an overwhelming sense of foreboding. She could not understand it, but a hollow sickness grew in the pit of her stomach as her eyes flitted about the ancient stronghold. She watched as the cries of relief and joy muted. Their people saw hope and survival within these walls, but for Halla, the black stone ominously whispered one word to her.

_Death_.

"Halla…. Halla!" Eowyn called, breaking her from the deafening trance. She had fallen behind as the elderly, women and children filed through the passageways deeper into the Hornburg. "The citadel is overcrowded, we are not the first to arrive," she said lowly, "There are many refugees from the Riddermark. The villages have been raided and burned to the ground. Halla, the wicked things those monsters have done to the people, the women-"

Halla grasped the beautiful royal's shoulders, "you mustn't burden yourself with the suffering of the dead. We cannot help them, but we can help these people."

Eowyn nervously clutched at the fabric of her navy dress and rang it in her hands, "They should have returned by now. Where are the men?"

Before Halla could answer, a loud commotion erupted behind them. Exhausted and bloodstained riders tore through the gate. Eowyn paced forward and relaxed slightly when Theoden entered, his eyes laden with disbelief. She continued to watch as the men flooded inside. Halla knew she was searching for Lord Aragorn, descendant of Isildur and heir to the throne of Gondor. She had become infatuated with him in his short time in Rohan. Her heart weighed heavily for Eowyn if he did not return.

"So few… so few have returned," Eowyn lamented. "We were outnumbered," the King replied solemnly.

"And Lord Aragorn? Has he returned?" she questioned the red bearded dwarf as he sullenly walked past. He paused and turned to her, hoarsely replying, "He fell." Halla watched as the elf followed close behind the dwarf, their gaze meeting for a brief moment. A deep, unspoken sadness brimming behind his azure eyes. It was as she had feared. Halla quickly waded over to Eowyn who was now left standing speechless and held her. There were no words she could offer to take away her friend's pain.

Though her pain did not last long. As if by some miracle, less than a day later Lord Aragorn appeared in at Keep of the Hornburg, bloodied and wearied. He had survived, and he brought ill news. Halla hid in the shadows of a hall within the Hornburg, overhearing as he spoke of an army ten thousand strong that would arrive at nightfall. Fear overwhelmed her. With Eomer and his men still banished and riding throughout the Mark, their numbers barely exceeded three hundred. They would not last the night!

Not a moment was spared in preparing the fortress for battle. The gates were reinforced, women and children were moved to the caves, every able-bodied man and boy was equipped with armor and weapons. Rohan's army would be that of stable hands and farmers, they were no soldiers. Fear clung to the air, choking out any shred of hope.

Soon night fell. As Halla followed Eowyn through the stone halls and deeper into the mountain, the wail of a horn rang through the chilled air. Halla froze in her tracks, recognizing the sound. "What is it?" Eowyn questioned, stranger to the shrill, foreign sound. "Elves," Halla said in complete shock, "elves of Lorien!" The young girl's mind raced. Could he be here? Happiness filled her heart with the idea of seeing Ethiron again, but it was quickly replaced by fear. She did not want him here; this would not be a battle they would survive. Panic overwhelmed her. One so kind and gentle could not die here. He could not die here, she would not allow it.

A deep understanding overtook the brunette as she slowly turned to Eowyn. "Continue on to the caves, there is something I must do," she said solemnly, gazing upon her dearest friend's fair face. Eowyn's grey eyes filled with worry, "But you will soon follow?" Halla held back tears threatening to show, as she knew the dark truth, the one she could not tell Eowyn. "I will. You must be a leader for the women and children, I must go now. I don't have much time, be safe!" she said as she threw her arms around the blonde's shoulders, doing her best to remember her friend's love for the night to come.

And then she was running.

Halla sprinted through the torch-lit corridors of Helm's Deep as the horn wailed again. Finally, she came upon the gate where a small army of Galadhrim soldiers stood in formation, dressed in golden armor and cloaked in grey. Halla stood towards the back, behind Rohirric soldiers who stood in awe at the steps. At the front stood their red-cloaked Captain, his hair long and shining silver in the moonlight. He looked to Theoden, "An alliance once existed between elves and men, long ago we fought and died together. We come to honor that allegiance."

Lord Aragorn, followed by his elf friend rushed down the steps to greet the Captain. Halla donned the hood of her gray cloak and waded through the crowd of men to the overlook of the stairs. She clung to a stone pillar and searched the hooded faces of the elves standing before her. She prayed endlessly to the Valar for him not to be there. She prayed he would not have to see this battle that would surely end as a bloodbath for the Rohirric people.

As the elf greeted the Captain of the Galadhrim, the army turned swiftly and faced forward. Halla's heart stopped. "No," she choked. Near the Captain stood Ethiron, his face exactly the way she remembered it. She marveled at his features, un-phased by the time that passed between their meeting when she was a young girl. His sharp blue eyes rested ahead, his face devoid of emotion.

Their Captain shouted an order in the elvish language and then they were marching up the stairs. Halla found herself speechless Ethiron neared. He would be on her side; he would walk directly past her. She stepped closer to the edge as he neared. She threw down her hood, her chocolate locks spilling out. She reached forward, and lightly grabbed the elf's shoulder. His eyes that were once fixed ahead snapped to her. For the briefest moment she could see that he did not recognize her, but under the light of the moon the fine line of her scar shone the lightest hue of silver.

It was then that his azure eyes wide grew wide shock. She withdrew her hand as he marched onwards, peering back at her, an unreadable emotion flickering across his fair face. Halla was stunned when he reached the top step and split off from formation. With long strides he impulsively made his way towards her, his cloak trailing behind him, revealing the golden armor beneath.

Men stared in confusion as they watched the sole elf push his way through to the girl they had not noticed standing at the ledge. Anxiety arose within her, as she was astonished that he even remembered her.

Then he stood before her, slowly removing his hood and helmet. He drank in her appearance. He could still see the child he pulled from the burning cottage in her face, but those features had matured and she had become strikingly beautiful. She now stood only a head shorter than he. Her body was lithe, her cheekbones more defined, her lips curvier… but her eyes, her eyes remained the same, insightful and sincere, gentle as a warm summer breeze and the same blue-green hue. The cloak he had given her years ago now fit her properly, only the slightest bit long as she would never be his size.

Tears welled in Halla's eyes as happiness mingled with despair. He cautiously reached out and lightly traced the fine scar snaking down her eye to the tip of her cheekbone, his brow furrowed in remembrance. Tears of sorrow now fell from the girl's face as he gazed into her eyes. "You cannot be here," she choked, her voice riddled with anguish, "why are you here!" His sharp eyes softened, understanding the reason behind her grief. He knew they would not survive this battle.

Ethiron himself was overwhelmed with emotion, unable to make sense of this reality. However, ages of control kept his façade in check. "Has this been a good life for you?" he questioned softly after finally finding his voice. She nodded her head and enveloped the elf in a constricting hug. He stood, momentarily dazed before wrapping her tightly in his arms. He regretted leaving her that day, so many years ago. It was as if the moment he left, a piece of his heart went missing. He felt hollow, and nothing in the time between had been able to fill it. Since then, Ethiron kept frantically busy with the guard, protecting the borders of Lorien and taking as many shifts as his Captain would allow. From the day he left her and from that day on, the world only grew darker.

She rested her dark head into his shoulder as he gently stroked her silky tresses. "You speak now," he said softly. A short laugh escaped her lips, "I called for you, but you did not come." Ethiron's eyes fell, guilt welling in his heart. But, before he could answer the voice of a man broke the silence. "My Lady Hallathel, you must return to the caves at once!"

The sudden reminder awoke his senses. He seized Halla's face and stared intently into her eyes with urgency not present before, "You must go now. The enemy will be upon our doorstep soon. You must get to safety!"

She violently shook her head, "You cannot go out there, please do not go-"

Ethiron opened his mouth to argue, but both were rendered silent as the faint sound of chanting echoed throughout the air. "They are nearing Helm's Dike," she said breathlessly. Without a moment wasted, Ethiron seized Halla's wrist and took off down the blackened corridors of Helm's Deep. Men raced past them bearing arms, as all now knew of the enemy's presence.

Finally Ethiron came to a halt once they had cleared the chaos of the final preparation before battle. He clutched the sides of her face and peered intently into her eyes as he pleaded, "Get to the women and children. Do this for me, I beg of you!"

"You will come back," she responded. It was not a question. He regarded her for one long, final moment. He could not bare to tell her the truth. He could not tell her that he would not return, but she needed to believe. "I will come back for you, Hallathel, my hidden flower," he replied before kissing her on the forehead and charging off to find his post.

Halla watched as he disappeared into the dark. She knew he was lying. She could see it in his eyes.

A sudden burst of courage fueled the girl onward as she sprinted to the now abandoned armory. Like fire ravaging wood she tore apart the room, finding vests of thick leather and metal. She removed the blue dress she wore and replaced it with leggings and boots. Her torso was covered by metal plate armor, her shins and arms protected by heavy guards. She hastily braided her hair into a single long plait down her back and threw on a gleaming metal helmet.

The girl darted to the back of the room and began strapping knives everywhere she could afford. Few swords remained now, but she grabbed the one closest to her size and strapped it in its sheath to her waist. Finally, Halla draped Ethiron's cloak over her shoulders and attached it at her neck. "Strength, Halla. Strength," she chanted as she sprinted out of the armory and into the night.

Ethiron would not die here. She would not allow it.

As the girl neared the Deeping Wall, the ground began to quake beneath her feet. The army was near. She sprinted up flights up stairs until she reached the top. Men lined the walls shoulder to shoulder. Halla spotted half of the elvish infantry posted at the front line, quivers filled with arrows, the other half absent.

The girl found a place next to an elderly man in the furthermost line on the wall near the elves and waited. She prayed to the Valar that her time as a shieldmaiden would assist through this dark night.

A howling wind blew in from the North, making the Rohirric banners violently whip in its might. Halla stared onward past the shoulders of the men standing before her. In the near distance marched an endless sea of orc, their orange torches likening them to molten rock from the very fires of Mount Doom. Though these were no mere Mordor orc, these were Sarumon's Uruk-Hai, bred for the purpose of destroying mankind.

Thunder rolled above. A storm head approached.

Savage roars that can only be described as the sound of death itself erupted from below. Flashes of lightening illuminated the terrified faces of the men around her. Then the rain began.

The hissing of water against metal added to the uproar of the ten thousand Uruk-Hai as they wildly thumped the ground with their spears, beating their chests and bellowing a grisly, devilish war chant. Fear clutched Halla's heart, digging its icy claws into the very depths of her soul. Images of her dead caretaker's face flashed through her mind. She had not encountered such terror since the night her village was raided.

Halla drew her sword and held it shakily between her hands, hoping that the feel of its cool steel beneath her fingers would give her courage. The intensity of the chanting grew so loud that the age-old stone beneath their feet shook. Her body screamed for her to run, but the fear that consumed the girl ran so deep that it left her absolutely paralyzed.

A command was given and every archer, Rohirric and elven, drew his bow. A long moment passed, each side waiting for the other to move. However, it was the sole arrow of an elderly man standing near that mistakenly drew first blood of an Uruk soldier standing at the front line. Outraged roars erupted from below as they began their charge.

Hell had been unleashed.

The Uruk army charged forward, great, blackened blades wielded high. Down the line, Lord Aragorn ordered for his men to shoot. A second wave of arrows followed from behind inside the fortress. The Uruk that fell dead were trampled as steady waves of beasts followed with no regard for the fallen.

Arrows littered the sky, but it was not enough to keep the Uruk forces at bay. Great, wooden ladders arose from the festering sea below. The beasts began their ascent, many falling to their death after being filled with arrows or their bodies hewn by the defenders above. Though, their numbers were too great and eventually overwhelming force took its toll.

Halla lowered herself and rocked anxiously on the balls of her feet, preparing to pounce as Uruks began to take her stretch of the wall. Men and orc fell left and right until finally she was next in line to defend. An Uruk soldier threw himself over the landing and right before the trembling girl. It charged forward, its cleaver held high. Halla quickly ducked and slashed the terrible thing in the stomach.

Soon her paralyzing fear became her ally as it transformed into life preserving adrenaline. A grunt sounded behind her, making the girl whip around and narrowly dodge a blow from behind. Uruk-Hai now flooded the landing and so began the bloodbath.

All track of time was lost in the heat of the battle. With each enemy slain, Halla inched closer to the elvish ranks down the line until eventually, she fought alongside the thousand year-old immortals. Between foes, Halla hacked at Uruks already engaged in battles with the elves. Soon it became nearly impossible to stand as the bodies of the Uruks began to pile. The skills of the elves were unlike any other, their speed and precision deadly against the Uruk whom relied on sheer power and size alone. Though, this did not make the elves absolute in battle.

After beheading an Uruk that reached the top of a ladder near her, Halla shoved with all of her might until it toppled down upon the swarming, bloodthirsty sea from whence it came, crushing beasts like insects in its wake.

"The ladders!" she cried, "bring down the ladders!" The brief absence of Uruk foe allowed Halla and the elves around her enough time to follow suit. Ladders fell left and right, but they soon rose again with new riders. As Halla hacked away at Uruks ascending the wall, an armored unit inching its way up the raised pathway to the gate caught her eye.

Amidst the chaos she heard orders of reinforcement in the Keep being shouted by Theoden. Halla tiredly threw down a ladder before sprinting to the far wall and looking over its edge. Her heart soared at the sight of the other half of the Galadhrim warriors down below within the Keep. Her joy was short lived as she was violently slammed into the wall, making the girl cry out in pain. Halla screamed and rolled to her side as an Uruk hacked at the girl, missing her by an inch. It swung down again, missing her once more as she rolled to the opposite side.

Halla thrust her sword forward, skewering the seven-foot Uruk soldier as it staggered forwards. She quickly regained her footing and began her journey to the Keep, battling with enemies each step of the way.

Finally, she reached the stairs that winded downwards. Here, the enemy numbers were smaller, but still no easy feat. Halla charged forward at an Uruk from behind and chopped at its legs before dealing the final blow to its thick neck. The girl used her smaller frame as an advantage, as she was harder to see coming than the other soldiers.

As she neared the gate, an explosion so powerful that it rivaled the wrath of the gods flung Halla to the ground like a ragdoll. She awakened to a deaf world. Bodies of men and orc surrounded her. Some writhing in pain and mutilated in the blast, others regaining their footing. Gigantic boulders and debris fell silently from the sky and crashed down around her, burying unlucky victims below.

She gazed on deafly as the water reserve flooded the gaping hole within the Deeping Wall in a ferocious torrent. "Impossible," she slurred. What devilry could reduce such a thing to rubble? She could see in the distance Lord Aragorn leading the final unit of Galadhrim in a charge against oncoming Uruk. Blood ran down Halla's face as she strenuously found her feet and ran to meet certain death.

The elves sprinted towards the Uruk lines that met them with long, wooden pikes. Halla held back a scream as a few of the elves became impaled upon impact, praying that none were Ethiron. Time slowed as Halla neared the battlefield. She searched the faces of the elves that were now caught in a deadly dance, whipping their curved swords around their bodies and cutting down all in their path.

Finally, she found the one she was looking for. Not twenty feet from her was Ethiron who was engaged in a battle all his own. The dark-haired girl dodged a few blows as she burst into battle. She would cover him. She would ensure that this kind being would leave this horrid place unscathed.

The first Uruk came at her with surprising speed. Halla threw herself aside and parried his second blow. The brute force alone knocked her back as she steadied herself for the third. The Uruk swung once more with unrivaled force, but allowing her enough time to slash and its side, effectively maiming the creature.

All around her elves and Uruk-Hai fell. Halla found herself lost in the deafening sounds of war and death. Now, she battled alongside Ethiron whom took no notice to her presence. Little did the elf know that the wearied girl fought all whom approached him from behind, as the so Uruk favored.

Her arms were weakening, her chest pained and hollow from the death she dealt upon her blade. It was easy to see this in the girl and finally an Uruk targeted the weakling. It struck the girl in the head with the hilt of its blade, sending her helmet flying and exposing her long, braided hair. She steadied herself and with a surge of power parried its blow and impaled the creature.

She looked to Ethiron whom was struggling to disarm the Uruk he faced. As she charged ahead, the Uruk dealt a powerful blow and caught the elf in his side. She shrieked in anguish before beheading the beast from behind. Ethiron still stood, holding his bloodied side, his ageless face twisted in pain when at that exact moment another Uruk came to deal the final blow. "NO!" she screamed as she grabbed Ethiron's shoulders, and threw him from the beast's path.

Halla cried out in pain as the beast's sharp blade grazed her upper arm. Ethiron remained on the ground, clutching his side. He looked on in horror as he recognized his savior who was continuing her battle with the Uruk, her eyes wild, her chocolate hair falling loose from its braid, the light of the moon illuminating a thin, silver scar upon her face. "HALLATHEL!" he shouted out of shock and fear for the mortal girl he held dear.

He did not understand… it was not possible… She could not be here!

Suddenly, the towering Uruk grabbed the girl by her throat and lifted her into the air as if she was weightless. Her booted legs dangled below her. The beast scowled at her, teeth barred as its skull-crushing muscle and thick fingers were inches from crushing her windpipe, making the girl struggle for air. "What is this? A little girl playing soldier?" it sneered in its gravelly voice. "Release her!" Ethiron pleaded from the ground as he failed to stand. Halla watched him struggle to stand from the corner of her eye as she desperately tried to loosen the beast's grasp on her throat.

"She is important to you, elf-scum? Good, that makes this fun…" he snarled as he threw her against the Deeping Wall, making Halla cry out in pain and gasp for air. It watched as she weakly rose to her feet. She shakily held out her sword, her injured left arm held tight to her chest. "Do not speak, beast!" she hissed through her teeth. The Uruk stepped closer, "She's pretty, elf. What would cause you the most pain, keeping her alive for after we have won the battle, or torturing her in front of you so that you can watch her die?"

Ethiron let out an enraged cry while the Uruk laughed at his outrage. Suddenly, Halla let out a war cry before running at the beast and swinging at its legs, effectively removing them from the Uruk's body. The monster roared in fury as it fell and was then beheaded by the injured girl.

Halla limped over to the fallen elf that was growing paler by the minute. She kneeled down to his side. "Why are you here!" he shouted, the girl was un-phased by his distress. "I… I am going to take you to help; you need a healer-" she said shakily. Halla snaked her arm around his waist and attempted to lift him, making him groan in pain. As she did, a lesser orc charged the two, making her fight off the beast until it was slain.

She quickly returned and as she tried again, the paling elf stopped her. "Halla-" he started. "Does it hurt too much? I can fix you, I'll fix you," she said, her voice frantic and eyes desperate. She moved aside his armor, repeatedly chanting, "I can fix you… I can fix you…" The elf watched sadly as her eyes grew wide at the sight of his deep wound. "Halla, I cannot be fixed."

Tears welled in her eyes as she hysterically shook her head. "No, no… you cannot die here. You were not supposed to die here!"

Two more orcs shrieked behind her as she whipped around to face them. With an anger and ferocity she had never felt before, the girl hacked away. Both quickly backed away, dodging her unrelenting blows. "Die!" she cried, her voice heavy with despair. Soon, both fell lifeless to the ground. Halla staggered once more towards Ethiron who gazed at her with pleading eyes, "Get away from here, leave me. I beg you!"

At that moment, another wave of Uruk soldiers flooded through the gaping hole in the Deeping Wall. Halla let out a fearful cry as they charged upon the remaining elves.

"Fall back! Fall back to the Keep!" she heard Theoden shout above the sounds of the battle. Halla looked down to Ethiron with terrified eyes, "I owe you my life, I will not abandon you!"

"Halla I am… not long for this world! It… is a lost cause!" he shouted while painfully clutching his increasingly bloody side. She glanced back between the elf and the approaching Uruk, "I was also a lost cause. Just because something is a lost cause does not mean it is not worth fighting for."

Halla lowered her body in a defensive crouch, trembling at the sight of the overwhelming numbers heading their direction. Tears fell from her eyes, understanding what was to come, "If you are to die here, you will not die alone."

Hallathel stood before the fading Ethiron, fending off every Uruk that approached. By now, the girl and elf were the only living defenders of Helm's Deep battling behind the Deeping Wall as the rest retreated to the Keep. Bodies of dead elves, men and Uruk-Hai were piled around them.

Fatigue wore heavily on the girl, and soon she felt unattached to her body. Finally, exhaustion took its deadly toll on Halla as she fought a losing battle with an Uruk soldier. Her arms held no more strength, her mind held little will. As she spun around once more in a final attempt at killing the beast, a sound so terrifying made her still.

The girl's eyes slowly drifted to her abdomen where the rusted blade of the Uruk was embedded. Sharp pained followed, leaving her breathless. In the background she could hear Ethiron screaming.

Halla staggered backward as the Uruk removed its blade. Halla let out a pained cry and with unexpected force fought back, dealing death to her assailant. For a moment she touched the hole in her front, her hand returning covered in blood. Cold realization fell upon her.

This was death.

Another Uruk charged at her. The girl battled through the excruciating pain and continuously let out desperate cries until it too fell dead. She dropped to a knee, unable to stand. "Hallathel," Ethiron called weakly from behind her, "you have fought well… you can stop."

Her world began to spin as she shook her head no. She struggled to her feet and took down a smaller orc as it swung at her. Halla then fell roughly to her side, her strength draining from her body. Her breathing became rugged, as the pain was nearly unbearable. She rolled her head up to look at Ethiron who was sorrowfully gazing back. His sharp blue eyes that were once always so steady were now betraying him. He was frightened. He could see death approaching.

Halla drug her broken body near the dying elf. He outstretched his arm, reaching for her. Through her pain, she inched closer until she lay at his side. Halla gently removed his golden helmet, spilling his soft chestnut hair about him. She wanted the world to see his kind face. She wanted for whomever it was that dealt with their bodies to see what war does, that they were not just nameless pawns in a battle. They had faces. They had names. This is Ethiron, and he should not have died here.

The elf strenuously rolled to his side as Halla inched closer into his open arms. She looked into his fear filled eyes. Death is a normal part of life for a mortal, but for an immortal… it is absolutely terrifying.

"Forgive me… for leaving you that day," he grits out through the severe pain in his side. "There is nothing to forgive," she smiles. Tears form in his sorrowful eyes, "You should not… have seen this. You are too young." He coughs hoarsely, blood was now filling his lungs.

Halla could not deny the fear in her heart for what was to come, but she understood that it had to be accepted. As she looked upon her elf savior who struggled harshly against his lethal wound, she too began to cry. "And you too kind," she wept, "But death is not for us to control. I chose to stay with you, Ethiron, and by Eru's will I shall follow you into the dark."

Ethiron's eyes darted around the faces of his fallen comrades, his friends. Halla rests her hand upon his face, redirecting his gaze towards her. "Do not look at them, for they rest now. They feel no pain. Keep your eyes on me," she says soothingly, doing her best to mask the excruciating pain radiating from her wound. Ethiron entwined his fingers within her hair. His breathing began to hitch; the light of the Eldar now draining from his eyes.

Fear is temporary.

Pain fades in time.

And the bitter, seemingly endless darkness soon becomes light in the dawn of a new day.

She leans toward him and lightly kisses his lips, "This is not the end, this is only the beginning," she says gazing deeply into his eyes, "Do not be afraid."

Ethiron nods, his features relaxing, accepting their fate, "Together."

Hallathel found her peace. It was not in the faraway lands she dreamt of as she grew up within the Halls of Meduseld, but there by Ethiron's side as they closed their eyes for the final time on the Western shores.

On the first light of the fifth day, so prophesized, Gandalf the White sought out and retrieved from the Fords of Isen, Eomer and his Riders of the Mark in a charge against the remaining Uruk-Hai forces. Theoden and his men, along with the Galadhrim reinforcements staved off Sarumon's army long enough for their arrival. Victory was won and Rohan would not fall to darkness. All grieved for the dead, but their sacrifice meant that the race of men would live on another day.

The two were found that same day by the few elves that remained from the Galadhrim forces after a beautiful, warm white light engulfed Helm's Deep. Hallathel, Shieldmaiden of Rohan and Ethiron, Galadhrim Warrior of Lothlorien, were found lying in each other's arms, resting peacefully in a quiet slumber of death.

Eowyn was distraught at the news of Halla's death. But, it was by her doing along with a surviving Galadhrim warrior whom had known of Ethiron's love for the child that arranged for the two to be buried beside one another amongst those who fought and died at the Battle of Helm's Deep.

Hallathel and Ethiron's simple show of compassion amongst the rubble and death moved all who looked upon them. It served as a reminder of what it was they were fighting for, especially in the days that followed when the greatest battle of their time would take place on the fields of Pelennor.

All would remember that they fought to protect their loved ones. They fought to protect the greatest gift of all, the compassion they were given by their Creator. The forces of Mordor, whom knew nothing of this gift sought to bring upon Arda an endless darkness. But, it was the race of men who held close to their hearts this one undeniable fact…

That light can and will always reach even the darkest of places.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Please review**


	2. Part II Reborn

**A/N: **

**Dearest readers, **

**Words do not do justice for how happy I am to continue this story. **

**Love and loyally, **

**-Kai**

* * *

><p><strong>Part II<strong>

**Reborn**

She was weightless.

Drifting in an endless nothing.

The ends of her hair curl and snake about her in a lazy dance.

She is the wind.

She is the clouds.

She is the air.

Below her is the world.

But where is the great shore?

Where is the old woman?

Where is her mother and father?

Now she is the stars above; not belonging. Separate. Alone, yet quiet in peaceful watch of what she once called home.

The stars become an ethereal blur as she passes through them.

Light too pure to call white seeps into her skin, piercing through her veins and into the very depths of her soul.

She allows the light to fill all that was once cold and empty.

No longer is she a shell carved out by a lifetime of fear and loss.

She closes her eyes one last time, forsaking the world below as she falls up.

-X-

A lone figure rests at the end of an outcrop near the shoreline, watching as the sun begins its descent into the horizon. The sea was calm that day, the calmest it had ever been. As the sun touches the water, the waves cease and all grows quiet.

It was as if the world stood still.

A soundless white light bursts from the meeting of the sun and the sea, emanating outwards and illuminating all in its wake. The figure shields its eyes and rises. Descending from the sky directly above the bay was a small form. Long, dark tendrils of hair dance idly about it, masking a face oblivious to the outside world. As the form nears the surface of the sea, the figure begins running.

A young girl floats peacefully in the still waters; her arms limp at her sides. Her white gown fans about her body, undisturbed and perfect. The ice of oblivion slowly fades and her senses begin to return. She feels cool water soak her skin before she is resting in another's grasp. She fights the oblivion, but its grip is stronger on her mind than her body.

As she is pulled to shore a lone whisper penetrates the wall surrounding her mind.

_Guide them home**.**_


	3. Part II - Chapter I

**I**

A single, whisper of a pulse beats deep within the girl's chest. At first it is unsteady and weak, but with every beat it grows stronger, forcing out the ice of death. Life begins coursing through her, flooding her veins like liquid sunshine. Stronger and stronger the girl's heart grows, until finally her eyes fly open. Her chest heaves upwards, gasping desperately for air as she remembers how to breathe.

Two keen, blue eyes peer down at her; a mixture of shock and disbelief is veiled behind a guarded exterior. Long, wet strands of hair curtain a handsome face. She jerks her head side to side, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The stranger raises his hands in an attempt to calm the now frightened girl. No words escape her lips as she desperately drags herself away.

Visions of battle flash through her mind like a lightening storm as she fades in and out of reality.

Blood.

So much blood.

Faces twisted in agony and horrendous monsters snarl and rip at throats. The sky is black, littered with arrows hissing overhead like an angry swarm of bees.

Bodies fall from a great black wall like leaves from trees.

Her eyes flit around as the battle plays out before her. The girl thrashes about, dodging blades that cannot cut her. Panicked cries escape her lips and tears flood her eyes.

The girl crumples into the arms of the stranger. He clutches her against his chest, unsure of what to do. Eventually her racing heart calms and she cries quietly into his drenched shirt. The man grasps her shoulders and holds the girl out to get a better look.

"What happened?" she questions sadly. The man cocks his head to the side but does not respond. "Where am I?" The stranger's eyes widen and his heavy brows crease into a look of distrust, "you are Westerner. You speak Common tongue." Suddenly he stands and retrieves a curved knife from his belt. The frightened girl shrieks, seeing not the blue-eyed stranger, but a hideous, dagger-toothed monster in his stead. The stranger reluctantly drops his knife, realizing the pitiful girl is no threat, "I am sorry, please… no fear."

Seeing the stranger's return she whimpers, "What happened to me?" He kneels next to her and points to the darkening sky, "Sky. You fall from the sky. I swim and pull you from the sea." The girl nods slowly, noting his thick accent and for the first time, truly looks at her savior. She reaches out and lightly brushes a pointed ear protruding from his wet hair, "You're an elf."

She looks around slowly, taking in the foreign surroundings. As far as her eye could see was the whitest sand, framed by sea and rock that protruded on either ends, forming a small bay. The elf watches curiously as the girl rises to her feet and gazes at the night sky. A single tear falls from her eye as she reaches above towards the glimmering white lights. "I was there… with the stars," she murmurs.

Visions of battle return. She sees blades swinging and arrows flying and in the background she hears someone calling to her. She curls forward and shrieks as she sees a rusted blade protruding from her abdomen. Trembling hands touch the nonexistent wound and return covered in blood. She peers up at the confused elf and breathes out two words before collapsing unconscious into his arms.

"I died."

-x-

One and a half days passed before the girl awoke again. The first thing she noticed was the flickering of warm, orange candlelight against a stone ceiling and the smell of sea salt in the air. She swung her legs over the side of the bed she rested on and stood. Her white dress had been washed and dried, as well as her hair, which fell loose to her waist.

Her room was made of rock, with large openings in the sides that overlooked a city of sand colored stone below. In the distance she could see a harbor filled with small boats and fishing vessels. The city glowed orange in the luminance of its torches, casting dancing shadows over everything the light did not touch. Red banners lined in gold whipped in the cool nighttime breeze.

She pads across her room to the wooden door and peeks into an empty hall. "Hello?" she calls, but there is no answer. She ventures further, looking for any signs of life. Suddenly a shout erupts behind her. She whips around to find two guards running at her, dressed in loose black shirts with curved, short blades strapped to their sides.

She takes off down the hallway as fast as her legs can carry her. The guards pursue her with inhuman speed and soon one snags her by the arm. She cries in pain as he yanks her to the ground and then throws her up against the wall. She desperately struggles against his tightening hold, kicking and screaming for him to let her go. Suddenly, a voice roars a command from behind the two guards and both are sent flying to the ground. The girl never hits the ground as she is once again in the arms of another. She punches at his chest but he restrains her.

"Stop, you must stop," he says. She ceases her fighting and finds a familiar face shouting at the two guards who are now engaged in a heated argument. One guard rips out his blade and points it towards the girl, making her clutch her rescuer's shirt. With one final command, the guards stand down, scowling at the girl before pacing away. Without a word, he swiftly returns her to the room in which she awoke. "I am sorry. My people…" he pauses, trying to find the right words, "our manners are not the best."

"Where am I?" she questions sternly. "The city of Caleri," he replies, his accent heavy as the foreign name rolls off his tongue. She shakes her head, "I don't know this place."

"Your name?" he questions. She sits for a moment, her eyes darken. It is the first time she had thought of what she was called. "No name?" he continues.

"No… no I think it was… Lilia, Lily for short. Yes, that sounds familiar… My mother said when I first opened my eyes they were as green as the stems of Calla Lilies…" she drifts off, deep in thought, "it is familiar to me, yet it doesn't seem quite right…"

She peers up at the elf sitting to her right. He looked different now that he wasn't soaked in seawater. His hair was long and black as night. He was dressed in a loose, dark red shirt and black leggings that were tucked into matching black boots. There was something wild about him. Perhaps it was his electric blue eyes, or the sharp angles of his face. He was handsome, but by no means tame. "What is your name?"

"Aeari, like the sea."

"Where are you from?" he asks, his gaze boring holes into her. She closes her eyes, seeing golden plains expand as far as the eye could see. Broken images of horses and people flicker in and out of focus. "There were horses… many, many horses… and men and women," she pauses, "and also a village in the woods…" He thinks on this for a moment, "the horse men of the West… I hear tales when I was young. Why an elf among men?"

She eyes him, "an elf? I am not an elf."

He reaches out and carefully pushes her dark locks from the side of her face. She slowly raises a hand and brushes her fingertips over the edge of a pointed ear. She covers her mouth, strangling out a scream. Tears of disbelief flood her eyes as she shakes her head. Aeari jumps and watches in shock as she begins hyperventilating. "What… I was mortal- No… I know I was mortal! What is happening to me!" she cries. He casts a glance over his shoulder as a guard rushes to the door. Aeari barks an order for the guard to stand down and grasps the confused girl by the sides of her face, "You must be calm. My people… not as kind like Western kin."

She nods her head frantically, attempting to control herself. "I died… I was of the race of men… My name was Lilia… I think… I was brought back, why?!" The elf wishes desperately to have an answer for the young girl, but can only do his best to calm her. "I can hardly remember a thing."

_Guide them_ _home._

The last words she heard echoed in the back of her mind.

"The Valar," she breathes. This does something to Aeari. His posture straightens, his eyes become hard. "It had to have been them!" she gasps, "but I was of mankind… I was not important! Why me?" Aeari stands and paces away, "Do not speak that name in this city."

She stands and draws near the disturbed elf, "But it had to have been!" she cries, "there is no other explanation – they sent back Glorfindel the Balrog Slayer and Gandalf the White! The Valar brought me back!" Aeari roughly places his hand over her mouth and peers out the door before slamming it shut. "Stupid girl! I tell you before, those words bring danger here," he hisses, "do not get banished after two days!"

"But you're an elf, they are your divinities are they not?"

Aeari scoffs and leans against the far wall, his overwhelming presence casting a gigantic shadow stretching to her feet, "You know little of elvish kind. We are the Avari. Elves of Eastern lands. _The Refusers_."

"Eastern lands?" the girl darts across the room and gazes outside at the waves crashing upon the bay. She surveys the barren, stony mountains the city is built into. She looks back to Aeari who has not moved from his position, noting his strange style of clothing. She had seen drawings before of the Corsairs of the East. She faintly remembered tales of the dangerous folk that lived beyond the Lonely Mountain, beyond the Iron Hills, beyond the land of fire. She breathes out in disbelief, "this is Rhun."


End file.
